


Carry On

by Madame de flammes (owlaholic68)



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Kidnapping, Multi, Mystery, POV Multiple, POV Third Person Limited, Panic Attacks, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Romance, Platonic Soulmates, Post-Canon, Slow Romance, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-04 19:59:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16353296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlaholic68/pseuds/Madame%20de%20flammes
Summary: A scientist, a once-Olympic athlete, and the Goddess of Lightning walk into a bar.It’s not the start of a joke, it’s the start of something unexpected. Something new.





	1. Chapter 1

When the dust settles, decisions must be made.

“I’m not so sure sticking together would be the safest-” Remy starts to argue, even though, privately, he thinks that sticking together would _feel_ the safest. “We’d be kind of visible.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “People would stare. And ask all sorts of weird questions.”

Nadiya crosses her arms. Her eyes are on her feet. Remy is looking to the side. Kardala is staring straight ahead, which means she’s looking a solid three feet over their heads.

“I’m not sure where we should go from here,” Nadiya admits. “But I have a lab. I have work.” She nods at Remy. “You have something, I’m assuming. We all have lives we could get back to, especially when this whole mess clears.” Her shoulders raise. “I’d be fine on my own.”

“Kardala would prefer to stay together.” Kardala’s voice is eerily quiet, far from her usual boisterous tone. She rubs the edge of her sleeve, a nervous tic that, strangely, reminds Remy of Irene. “Safer. Do not trust the world of men to be kind to you. To either of you. To us.”

“Oh.” Nadiya glances between Kardala and Remy. “Well, I’m not really sure-”

“Irene would also prefer that we remain together.”

“What?” Remy’s eyebrows quirk in that way that his brother always teased him about, saying it made him look like a cartoon character. “You can hear – Irene can still talk to you in there? Is that even how any of this works?”

Kardala’s eyes are level when they meet his. Smooth and pale blue like the polished surface of ice on a sunny day. “Of course, little man. Irene could hear me, after all.”

That is something to unpack for a different day, sometime when they haven’t just fought in a Bible theme park and then met the King of the USA, and then kind of turned against the totally-cult they were in. For now, they need food. Rest. Peace and quiet.

“Well,” Remy claps his hands and looks at his teammates, “I guess that puts it at a tie! But I’ve just decided that yeah, sure, why split up our kick-ass team now?” He turns to Nadiya.

She shrugs, and it’s not hard to see that she’s not against this either. “Sure. Why not?”

* * *

Easier said than done, of course. Like anything is easy when it comes to the three of them.

Step one: sleep. Bed. A cheap hotel will do the trick. Two beds is all they can get, but Kardala, citing the fact that she’d be too tall for a bed anyways, grabs a pillow and makes herself comfortable on the floor.

Showers later. Sleep now.

Nadiya isn’t sleeping, though. She sits on her bed, still fully dressed. None of them had any other clothing. She still smells of smoke and electricity and blood, but who cares about that at two in the morning?

The complete darkness only makes her insomnia worse, so she switches on the bedside lamp and stands, stretching to try and soothe the ever-present ache in her arms and legs. An after-effect of so much physical stress on her body, no doubt. She’s also starving.

There’s a slightly crushed granola bar in one of the pockets of her Do-Good utility vest. With a wince at the seemingly deafening crackle of the wrapper, she unwraps it and slowly munches on the snack. Remy, sprawled on the bed with his face buried in a pillow, stirs, but doesn’t awaken.

That granola bar did nothing. If anything, Nadiya feels hungrier. She makes up her mind to go leave and find food. After making sure she has money and the hotel keycard, she slips on her shoes.

“Demon.” Kardala sits up from her spot on the floor, stage-whispering across the small room.

“Going to get food,” Nadiya whispers as an explanation. “Just stay here-”

Kardala is already getting to her feet. She straightens the long white cloak she wears and stands expectantly in front of Nadiya.

“Are you…sure?” Nadiya kind of feels like being alone right now, in the way she always prefers her own company. “We’re going to be out of range of Remy, so you’re going to turn back into-”

“Kardala can handle it. It is only an excursion for food.” She brushes past Nadiya and opens the door into the dimly lit hallway, her hair sparking and fanning out over her broad shoulders. “Famished.”

* * *

Denny’s is brightly lit and completely empty. It’s calm and homely and Irene feels guilty as she tries to order food around the hiccupping sobs erupting from her chest. They’re already causing trouble for the waitstaff by being here at this hour, and ordering so much food, and now she can’t even get that part right-

“I think we need one more minute,” Nadiya tells the poor waiter, who scurries away. “Hey. Irene.”

Why did Kardala agree to go on this food trip with Nadiya of all people? Nadiya, who is hopelessly bad at comforting people, Nadiya who causes people to need comfort, Nadiya who is cruel and thoughtless and self-centered-

Nadiya, who has come around to Irene’s side of the booth and laid a hand on her arm. “Hey,” she softly says, then stares at Irene. “I, uh, don’t know what to say. Shit.”

Well, at least Irene was right about the hopeless at comforting part. She hysterically giggles and buries her face into a bundle of paper napkins. What is she even _doing?_ Taking a break from her superhero-slash-goddess alter-ego by sitting in an empty Denny’s in the middle of the night. Her hair is a mess. She’s still wearing one of the Fellowship’s jumpsuit-and-vest outfits. She looks and feels like a walking disaster.

“So, uh, what do you want to order?” Nadiya has had enough of the touchy-feelies, and has retreated to her side of the table. “Breakfast, or something else? There’s other stuff on here too.”

Focus. Irene takes a deep breath, then another, like she always tells people who come to her in the middle of panic attacks. It helps, kind of.

“I’m going to order pancakes,” Nadiya continues. “The pancakes are good.” She clears her throat. “They’re good.”

With the intent of saving Nadiya from having to awkwardly hold up this conversation, Irene dabs her eyes and looks at the menu. The part of her that burns with power and lightning and fury, the part that is screaming at her to eat, to gorge herself on meat and grains, is getting louder. She is so hungry.

“I’m ready,” she says, and waves over the waiter. She stumbles through her order, pausing a few times to blow her nose.

Then they wait. In silence only broken by the distant clatter of kitchenware and an occasional sniffle from Irene. The waiter returns with a pitcher of coffee for Nadiya, and a cup of tea for Irene. The tea is soothingly warm. Irene dumps two packets of Splenda into the cup, and stirs, watching the artificial sugar dissolve in the cup.

To her surprise, Nadiya has put three packets of sugar into her own coffee cup. She catches Irene staring in surprise.

“I’d always thought you’d drink coffee black,” Irene blurts. She blinks back tears. “We – we don’t even _know_ each other,” she says, voice high and hysterical. “We met all of two days ago. I don’t know anything about you, personally, and – and – what are we even _doing?”_

“I don’t know.” Nadiya puts her elbow on the table and rests her cheek on her hand. In the garish fluorescent lights of this restaurant, the shadows under her eyes almost look like shiners. Her skin is ashen, her hair hanging limply out of a low ponytail. “I have no idea. Neither does Remy. And even though Kardala _said_ she wanted us to stick together, I’m not even sure if _she_ has any sort of plan.”

Irene lets out a laugh-sigh. “What do you think?”

“That’s fair. And what about you, Irene? Kardala said that she can hear you in there? That you want to stay with us too?” Nadiya is looking at her now, sizing her up. Investigating. “What’s up with that?”

Irene pushes around the empty sugar packets on the table. She shrugs. “Yeah. Like I said, I don’t know.” And she _knows_ it’s a non-answer, and she hopes more than anything else that Nadiya’s awkwardness and discomfort with personal relations will prevent her from pushing further.

Her hopes are realized. Nadiya drops it.

Their food arrives. Irene’s platter of food has barely touched the table before she’s digging in. She’s starving, and it surprises her to find that the near-manic way she’s shoveling food into her mouth is one hundred percent her, and zero percent Kardala. Irene mostly eats salads, nibbling politely, delicately taking small bites. But this has been a rough last few days, and stress is dragging down her bones and making her movements frantic, jerky.

“Wow, you really wanted that skillet, huh?” Nadiya has a stack of pancakes and a pile of bacon. Irene is quickly working her way through what the menu calls a “Country-fried Steak and Eggs Sizzlin’ Skillet”. The waiter had implied that it was meant to be shared. It’s garnished with potatoes, peppers, and cheese. “Uh, maybe slow down? A little bit?”

Irene has not completely lost all sense of logic. She wipes her mouth on a napkin and adjusts her utensils so she’s holding them properly. “Sorry,” she says, flushing. She doesn’t really care about being rude in front of _Nadiya,_ but still…

“Oh fuck.” Nadiya stands. “Irene, don’t cry over that – oh shit – why – how-”

“It’s just so much,” Irene sobs, and she’s not talking about the food. “I don’t know what’s going on-” She takes a deep breath and centers herself, or tries to. People always say that, and it’s harder than it looks. She scoops some potatoes into her mouth and chews. The food is warm and filling and is steadying the persistent shake in her hands.

“It’s been a long day.” Nadiya twirls a pancake on her fork. “It’s a lot.”

It’s not very comforting, but it’s better than nothing. Irene is done crying by the time she finishes her plate. Then she orders seconds, then a third serving to go.


	2. Chapter 2

Remy wakes to the smell of pancakes.

“Hell yeah, pancakes!” He bolts up from the bed and is met with Nadiya’s stern face.

She has a finger pressed to her lips. “Shut. Up.” Her voice is hardly louder than a whisper. “Or do you want to wake up Sleeping Beauty over there?”

Oh. Kardala is sleeping on the floor, taking up seventy-five percent of the available floor room.

“Sorry,” Remy whispers, bouncing from foot to foot. “Pancakes?”

“Yeah, here you go.” Nadiya hands him a take-out container. “We went to Denny’s. Got you something in case you were hungry – and ah. You are.”

“Who’d you go to Denny’s with?” Remy asks, mouth half full.

There’s a certain look that Nadiya gives people that says: _You’re a colossal idiot._ “Uh, Kardala. And Irene.”

Remy focuses on eating the pancakes and not asking any more stupid questions. But there is something he wants to ask. “Hey, Nadiya.” The look she gives him this time is a warning, but he is already accustomed to ignoring her glares. “Are you all good?”

“Huh?”

“I mean,” the fidget spinner in Remy’s free hand is almost whirling fast enough to fly away. “Are you okay? We all got superpowers and never really got a chance to process any of that, and then finding Mary, and,” he laughs, because there’s nothing much these days to laugh at, “King Dick, and, I don’t know, I guess I was just checking in.”

Her shoulders had seemed relaxed before, easy and casual. But now they stiffen. Nadiya’s face closes off. “Just eat your food. I’m taking a shower.” She turns on her heel and stalks into the bathroom.

More of a no than a yes. Remy sighs and eats.

* * *

They change clothes in a gas station bathroom. Nadiya first, then Remy. They couldn’t find clothes that would fit Kardala, but they had gotten a spare pair of jeans and blouse for Irene. Bought, like their other “new” spare clothing, from a thrift store. New undergarments and other necessities came from a neighboring dollar store. They had precious little money.

“Five minutes, and I’ll start driving back,” Nadiya warns, then starts down the road. A few minutes later, the sensation of losing his powers hits Remy. He’s leaning against the grimy wall of the gas station when Kardala shrinks, and Irene is left standing on the concrete.

“Here. Change. Quick, before Nadiya comes back.” Remy shoves the clothing in Irene’s hands. It’s been so long since he’s seen her, and there’s not even going to be time for conversation.

Irene, to her credit, immediately grasps the situation and rushes into the bathroom. The lock on the door is broken, but Remy stands in front of it.

Three minutes later, Irene comes back out. “Where are we going?”

Remy rushes his words, aware that they only have two more minutes before their powers kick back in. “Don’t know. Nad’s got a place, a lab where she can work, an apartment. It’s in Philadelphia. Got any better ideas? Right now that’s all we’ve got.”

Irene’s already shaking her head. “I had put all of my things in storage before going to the Fellowship,” she says. “And my lease on my apartment was up. I can go wherever. I can get a job very easily with my experience. Philly will be fine.”

“And are you going to be okay?” Remy asks. “Being with us, you know that-”

“I know,” Irene snaps, then her face falls. “Sorry. I know it’s not going to be easy, but, honestly, the thought of being on my own right now-”

The low thrum of their powers returning seeps into their bones. Remy feels it in the way his legs become light, in the near-electric warmth in his hands. The effects on Irene are immediate.

“Little man!” Kardala stands in front of Remy. “Kardala is ready to leave! Where is the demon?”

“She’s on her way.” Kardala is not known for her patience, so Remy quickly follows up with: “We’re almost ready to hit the road.”

“Yes! Hit the road!” Kardala raises a large fist. “Kardala is not sure why we are striking the ground, but she will gladly participate!”

Remy, too late, realizes his mistake. “Wait, no-”

* * *

Philadelphia feels too big and too small all at the same time. It’s a big city, with a densely-packed downtown and sprawling suburbs. But something about those same streets press down on Nadiya as she, Remy, and Kardala cut through an alley.

“Are we there yet?” Kardala’s voice cannot be contained by the mere power of being in public. Nadiya wishes that Irene could find some way to gain control of herself, just so that people would stop staring at them. Whenever possible, Nadiya prefers to not draw attention to herself.

“One more block,” Nadiya says. “Right next to the Seven-Eleven. Orange building.”

After spending the last week travelling and spending nights in increasingly smaller hotel rooms, all of them were excited to finally sleep somewhere permanent. What Nadiya wasn’t so stoked about, however, was having these two (or three, if you counted Kardala as being a separate entity from Irene, which technically she was) dinguses live with her. Even if they all got sick of each other in a month and went their separate ways, that would still be a month of agony. Nadiya can’t even begin to think of all of the productivity she’s going to lose while babysitting these two.

But they all agreed to this. And with their available money quickly running out, it’s better than nothing.

“Here.” Nadiya punches in the code for the front door, and ushers them inside. “It’s on the second floor.” She winces at the thunderous thump of Kardala’s feet on the stairs, and makes a mental note to apologize to her neighbors. Or she would, if she had actually met anybody in this complex.

“A quaint abode!” Kardala ducks her head when they come out of the stairwell. “You live here, demon?”

Nadiya stops in front of her door, and rummages in her pocket for the key. “Yeah, from time to time-” She stops.

“What?” Remy asks, bouncing from foot to foot.

Despite the situation, Nadiya laughs. More nervous than anything. “I _may_ have left the key in my dorm. On the Berg.” Damnit. She has a spare key in the junk drawer of her kitchen, because Nadiya never forgot things like keys.

“Oh.” Kardala puts her hands on her hips. “Simple solution. Break down the door-”

The reaction time of Remy and Nadiya is impressive. They both latch onto Kardala’s arms. “No, wait-”

“Hold on. I have an idea.” Nadiya focuses and turns her left hand into a soft putty-like material. Not technically a weapon, but it might work. She feels herself start to sweat as she sticks her malleable hand into the keyhole, then molds her weird skin into the indents of the lock mechanism. She feels something slot into place, then twists her wrist like she would turn a key.

The door unlocks and swings open. Nadiya retracts her hand and turns it back to normal.

“Wow!” Remy looks at Nadiya like he’s never seen her use her superpowers before. “That was sweet, Nadiya! Oh, could you do that with-”

“No.” Nadiya opens the door. “Whatever you were going to ask, the answer is no.”

Okay, so maybe she feels a little bad at the way that Remy’s face falls. He pouts and mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “demon”.

“So this is…an apartment.” Kardala looks around the small space. “Interesting. A small home in a building with other small homes.” She puts her hands in the pockets of her long white fluffy cloak. They need to find her more clothing, but right now, besides her Fellowship jumpsuit and vest, that’s all she has.

“I’ll give you a tour. I guess.” Nadiya leads them out of the entryway and into the small living area. There is a lopsidedly worn couch and a coffee table. A chipped entertainment center (that Nadiya had picked up from someone’s trash pile) holds a boxy TV (from the local thrift store). “This is the kitchen. I’ve got some pots and pans, but we need to go shopping for food.” Next, she shows them the bathroom and linen closet.

“This is my room.” She only keeps the door open for a few seconds before closing it again. Nadiya wasn’t a slob, but nobody could call her clean. Besides, it’s _her_ space. It’d be best to set boundaries before things get out of hand. “And this is the guest bedroom.”

“Is it?” Remy pokes his head in the door. “Because it looks like an office in here.”

That’s fair. “Well, it will be once we get a bed in here. For now, I have an air mattress.” Nadiya turns up her nose. Last chance to turn this all around. “If you don’t like it, you can go somewhere else.”

Of course, Remy and Kardala aren’t going to be discouraged that easily.

“I’m fine with that.” Remy shrugs.

“Kardala has slept on the ground many a night. The couch or this cloud-filled mattress will suffice.”

Well, there’s nothing Nadiya can do now. Guess she’s stuck with these losers for the time being. Maybe she’ll be right, and they’ll all get sick of each other in a month.

* * *

A month and a half later, and Nadiya thinks she’s right.

“I was _saving_ those leftovers for lunch today!” Nadiya squares her shoulders and glares down at Irene.

“Sorry!” Irene is normally squeaky and shy when it comes to confrontation, but this morning is dark and dreary and they’re both exhausted from their respective jobs. She glares up at Nadiya. “Kardala was hungry! Write your name on it next time!”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry, it was my idiotic alter-ego, nothing I can do about it! Oops!’” Nadiya huffs and turns on her heel. Guess she’ll have to pick up something on the way to work. “At least Remy knows not to eat my shit, except for when he eats all of the ice cream! But you’re an uncontrollable mess, a fucking disaster!”

“Hey! You know I’ve got no say in anything when Kardala takes the wheel, so stop blaming me, okay?” Irene snatches her purse off the table. “Complain about it to Kardala tonight and leave me alone!"

Irene doesn’t slam the door, because above all she’s still mousy and gentle, but she does close it a tad harder than normal.

“Useless,” Nadiya mutters to herself in the empty apartment. Remy had already left for his IT job, leaving Nadiya and Irene the last ones out.

The front door reopens. “Also,” Irene sticks her head back in, looking sheepish, “I’m going to stop by the store on the way home. Need anything?”

Nadiya rolls her eyes. “We need milk.”

* * *

According to the news, the three of them are both heroes and villains. Everybody saw the broadcast, everybody knows what happened.

“The three vigilante superheroes from the former Do-Good Fellowship are still unaccounted for,” the newscaster is saying. Behind her is a shot from the infamous event, showing Nadiya, Remy, and Kardala with a big red blur that was Mary’s hair. “Authorities are unsure if they are a threat, but all are advised to be on the lookout.”

A picture of Remy from his brief Ninja Warrior stunt. A picture of Nadiya from some professional event. The only picture they have of Kardala is a blurry still from the broadcast. A series of question marks are under her picture.

“Do you think the government wants to like, dissect us or something?” Remy asks, flipping the remote over in his hands. “Like those movies were they all get kidnapped because the government thinks we’re freaks? Like in X-Men?”

Kardala scrunches up her nose. “If the government attempts to pick me apart like some _lab rat,_ they will find it a difficult endeavor. I will punch them all. Kardala does not fear punching the _government.”_ She says the word ‘government’ with more malice than ‘lab rat’.

“Judging by the fact that we’ve been here for two months and nobody’s come knocking on our door yet, I think we’re probably fine.” Nadiya sips her coffee. “Has anyone at work said anything about it?”

“Nah.” Remy shrugs. “They all think it was some sort of publicity stunt, and just keep asking me if I’m secretly an actor or something. They’re all convinced they’re part of _Undercover Boss._ Nobody really believes I’m some kind of, I don’t know, superhero.”

“Nobody bothers Kardala. At Irene’s _job,”_ another disgusting word, according to Kardala, “nobody knows Irene anyway.” Irene had been able to get an HR job at a decent insurance company.

“Then we’re probably fine.” Nadiya yawns. It’s a lazy Saturday morning and the three of them are squished together on the couch. Kardala in the middle, Remy and Nadiya on either side. “I’m sick of the news. Let’s see what’s on other channels. Maybe they’ve got a MST3k re-run.”

Remy puts his feet up on Kardala’s lap and flips through channels on the old TV. News, more news, a children’s cartoon, the depressing news channel that has Missing People reports. He lingers there, because the name of the neighborhood that pops up under some kid’s picture is their own suburb. He barely registers the name and picture (Carly Johnson, age 24) before moving on. He’s got Amber alerts on his phone anyway.

“Hell yeah, Star Trek.” Nadiya sits up.

“Hey, what if I wanted to watch the Cooking Channel?” Remy protests.

“Too bad.” Nadiya sticks out her tongue. “It’s my apartment. My TV.”

Remy sticks out his tongue in response, but doesn’t argue. _Technically,_ it’s Nadiya’s place, but they’re all pitching in on the rent, and they’ve been here for two months. It feels like everyone’s home now.

Nadiya complains about the heaps of fidget spinners tucked away in every nook and drawer, but Remy has caught her with one more than once. Kardala has been relegated to only using sturdy wooden and plastic utensils and dishes after she’d accidentally crushed a whole set of normal ceramic kitchenware. And speaking of dishes, Nadiya never washes them, leaving Remy to nag at her until he finally does it himself. The number of half-full coffee mugs left over the apartment makes him shiver.

Irene, when she’s home, is unnaturally tidy. Remy has found Irene vacuuming the couch cushions. Who even _does_ that? The only things she leaves around are small post-it notes reminding everyone (including herself and Kardala) to do certain things. Pick up certain groceries, stop by the bakery to get fresh bagels, organize the cleaners under the sink, scrub the shower, etc.

* * *

“So, are you…good?” Nadiya is terrible at personal things. It’s her greatest character flaw, and she knows it. “Haven’t really seen you around lately.”

Irene looks up from the sidewalk. She kind of totters when she walks, and Nadiya grudgingly admits that it’s adorable. It’s because Irene is always wearing flats or heels or some other impractical footwear, and because she always carries her purse in the crook of her arm. Like an old lady at the tender age of thirty-one. Her stride is an entire two inches long.

“I’m doing just fine,” she primly says. “Work is okay, everybody there is very nice.” She points them down a side street. “The schedule works out. With Kardala. She gets enough time at home, and since I’m the one in public, I don’t draw too much attention. People probably would notice a giant thunder goddess walking around.” She steps around a puddle. “It almost feels normal now.”

“Hm.” Nadiya has strained the limits of her conversational skills. “Is this it?”

“Yeah, this is it.” Irene has led them to a bakery that she had been buying their bread from for the past two weeks. It was on her way home from work, but she wanted to show it to someone else, just in case they wanted to buy something special too. “I know it’s a little…”

“Bougie?” Nadiya frowns at the kitschy-cute pink striped overhang and the delicate wrought-iron chairs and tables outside. The inside looks to be much of the same, cutesy and fluffy. Come to think of it, this is _exactly_ the kind of place Irene would love. The sign over the door reads ‘Cutie Pie Bakery’.

“Well, the owners are nice, and the bread is good. Now come on.”

A cluster of bells over the door ring. Nadiya winces. Cutesy. Pretentious. Tiresome. But if this place makes the bagels they’ve been eating for the last week, then maybe they don’t just talk a big game.

“Hello there!” A tall blond woman looks up from the counter. “Ah, Irene! And a friend too!”

“Good morning, Gina.” Irene steps to the counter. “I’d like a loaf of bread, the multigrain please, and a half a dozen bagels. Anything for you, Nadiya?”

Nadiya shakes her head and crosses her arms. “I’m good.”

“Oh, are you sure you two wouldn’t like some cupcakes? Larry just made a fresh batch.” Gina scoops the bagels into a paper bag and tapes it closed with pink polka dot tape.

“Larry is her husband,” Irene whispers to Nadiya. “He helps run the bakery.”

“Cool, I don’t really care,” Nadiya whispers back.

Gina hands over the bagels and bread and smiles. “The cupcakes are red velvet, ladies. I don’t know if you like-”

“I will take some cupcakes!” Irene surges forward, her eyes lighting up. Nadiya takes out a small notebook and writes down: Red Velvet. Irene’s birthday was in two weeks, and Nadiya always needed a bit of help when it came to inspiration for gift-giving. She usually gave gift cards. “Four cupcakes, please.”

“Comin’ right up, dear.” Gina takes out four cupcakes and sets them on the counter. She grabs a piping bag full of baby blue icing to contrast the white frosting of the cupcakes. “One for you, Irene, and you said your friend’s name was Nadiya.”

She pipes a curly cursive letter I on one cupcake, then an N on the other.

“A K and a R, please,” Irene supplies when Gina looks up.

“Don’t buy them cupcakes,” Nadiya grumbles. “Remy didn’t get his lazy ass up to come here. And why does Kardala need her own when you’re eating one?”

Irene pretends like she didn’t hear, cheerily paying Gina and taking the cupcakes and other baked goods.

“Would you prefer that Kardala eat _your_ cupcake?” She challenges once they’re outside. “It’s best if there’s one with her name on it. Literally.”

“Hm.” Nadiya admits that that’s true. Irene eats her cupcake while they walk back h– back to their apartment. _Nadiya’s_ apartment. Not _home,_ no matter how often that small thought worms its way into the back of Nadiya’s head.

Because Irene is nothing if not polite, she finishes eating her cupcake before speaking. “So I thought we could also stop by the cheese store on the way home. The guy who runs that, his husband Mark is so kind and always gives me a bunch of samples, and Marcie at the grocery store meat counter always makes sure I have my deli selections cut properly-”

Nadiya tunes Irene’s chatter out with the ease of long practice. “On the way home,” she agrees, and turns the word over in her head like a long-examined hypothesis.

Home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning: mention of a female character being followed (first scene)

Remy is wrapping up the last hem of a pair of sweatpants for Kardala when his phone goes off. He switches off the sewing machine and sets aside the mostly-finished garment before taking out his phone and swiping it to open.

A text from Irene/Kardala, nicknamed ‘the Electric Lady’ (yeah, so Remy’s been binge-listening to Janelle Monae, so what?). The text says: _Remy were r u?_

Uh-oh. Remy pushes back his sewing stool and stands. With anybody else that would not be a worrying text, but Irene is the most grammatically correct texter he’s ever known. Irene does _not_ ever use abbreviations or slang.

He texts back: _at home. Going to call._ Then he calls Irene, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder while slipping on his shoes and grabbing the apartment keys.

The phone doesn’t ring for more than a second before Irene picks it up.

“I’m on my way,” Remy says. “Are you still at the store?”

“Yeah. Just left.” Irene’s normally mousy voice is even quieter. “You don’t have to come get me-”

“I’m already out the door. What’s wrong?”

“It – it’s nothing.” Her voice wavers. “Just, maybe some guy is following me. I don’t know, it’s probably nothing, I shouldn’t have bothered you, I’m sorry-”

If there’s anything that Remy trusts in this topsy-turvy world, it’s Irene’s instincts. He starts walking faster, weaving through other pedestrians. Even if it really _is_ nothing, it’s always better to be safe than sorry. There have been two more reports of missing people in the area over the last month. Of those two people, one was found, and not alive.

It’s not a very long walk from the apartment to the store. Remy sees Irene from down the street and waves. Her hands are full with one bag each, and another one is balanced on her hip.

“Hey!” He yells, and sees her perk up at seeing him. “Irene!”

“Hi!” She answers, and quickly glances over her shoulder. About ten feet back, a man is walking with his hands in his pockets, looking at them. When he sees them looking back, he quickly looks away and crosses the street, then turns the other way.

“Hey.” Remy takes two of Irene’s bags. “You okay?”

She nods, apparently not up for words right now. They walk back home in silence, Remy resisting the urge to sprint ahead with his longer stride and boundless energy. It’s only when they’ve entered their apartment and set down the grocery bags that Irene starts quietly crying.

“Hey, there.” Remy hugs her and pulls her down onto the lumpy couch. “It’s fine.”

“I know.” She sniffles and takes out a handkerchief from her purse, because apparently Irene has both a thunder goddess and a ninety-year old grandma inside of her. “I was just scared, and worried, and worried that I was just making a big deal out of nothing. I wish I just wasn’t so pathetic, and, I wish I could just pop out Kardala anytime I wanted to, because Kardala isn’t scared of anything.” She dabs at her eyes and quickly calms herself down. “But I can’t even get that part right.”

Remy is good with comforting people by joking, or making some comment that will make him laugh. But his metaphorical quiver is empty, so he simply hugs Irene until they both feel the familiar tingle of Nadiya getting closer, on her way home from work.

Irene separates from the hug. “I’m going downstairs,” she announces. “I’ll be up for dinner. And hungry.”

When Nadiya comes home, she looks around the room and asks, “where’s Kardala?”

“Downstairs.” Remy doesn’t look up from his laptop. “Said she’d be back for dinner.”

“Hm.” Nadiya, who was getting out pasta, starts assembling ingredients for burgers instead. “We’ll need an extra few burgers, then. Hope the neighbors don’t mind the noise of the punching bag.”

“The guy in 3C does laundry at this time, so it’ll be fine,” Remy remarks. He puts aside his laptop and throws on an apron. “We’d better get started on those burgers.”

* * *

Nadiya’s work is very important. Which is why any interruption is, to put it lightly, unwelcome.

“Sorry, Ma’am, but he insisted upon seeing you immediately,” the intern babbles, then steps aside.

“Nadiya.” It’s Joe. From the Fellowship. “It’s good to see ya-”

Nope. Nadiya turns her back to Joe and walks away.

“Wait, I – Nadiya!” He scrambles after her. “I just wanna talk about something-”

She lets him follow her into a small conference room, then glares at him until he sits in a chair. She slams the door closed, because it’s a Monday and Kardala was up way too early trying to make coffee, and it felt like Remy was up all night sewing. “What do you want.”

Joe doesn’t mess around. He knows how much she hates when someone doesn’t get right to the point. “Some of us have gotten together, from the Fellowship, and we were thinkin’ about gettin’ some more people, maybe trying to rebuild. Rebrand.” His reedy voice sounds eager, confident. “Do more of the scientific and medical marvels that really helped people. Try to figure out some way to help those who have been augmented, stabilize some of the less successful ones. Think about it, Nadiya. All of our work wouldn’t have been for nothing.”

“So?” She knows what he wants, but feels like making him squirm to ask.

“We want your help. Your scientific genius would let us work miracles, Nadiya. And if you’re still in contact with Remy, or Irene and Kardala, you could ask them if they want to join back up too. We were able to track you down, but not the others.”

Nadiya levels him with an unimpressed glare.

He caves. “Okay, fine, we know y’all are livin’ together, but we didn’t wanna spook them. Remy’s already has gone through so many life changes, and well…” he rubs the back of his neck. “We weren’t sure where Irene stood on all of this. We thought it best to ask you first.”

Ask her so that _she_ could do the hard work of convincing the others. These Do-Gooders didn’t even want to take the risk of talking to Remy and Irene themselves, didn’t want to take the fall if they were violently rejected. Because Nadiya, in contrast, was an easy target. Give her money, labs, equipment, and freedom to experiment, and she’s hooked. It’s how they got her the first time. No emotional attachments that would slow her down, nobody to visit during the holidays, nobody to look out for her should she choose to join a cult-adjacent organization.

Well, she’s not alone now. “No.”

“No?” Joe’s face falls. “Maybe you don’t trust that we’re really doing this, and I don’t blame you. I could have Grace or Potts swing over here and prove it to you-”

“No.” Nadiya crosses her arms. “I don’t want to see you or any of them every again. Tell them all to fuck off and not bother any of us.”

“Oh.” Joe slumps, like he really thought he convince her that easily. “Come on, Nadiya, please. Think about it. Think of all the opportunities that you’d be throwing away. All of the work you could do with us-”

“I don’t _need_ any of you,” Nadiya snaps, and sliding into such a familiar tone of voice is comforting in a way. “Why would I need to rely on _any_ stupid little organization to help me when I’m perfectly capable of doing this on my own? When I’m one of the smartest scientists that’s ever lived? I can do great things on my own, no thank you. It’s _you_ that needs _me._ Well, guess what? I don’t want your help, and I sure as hell don’t need it. Now. Leave.”

Joe stands and looks like he wants to argue, but instead rubs his forehead. “Fine.”

Nadiya sweeps her arm out towards the door. “And if I hear that you’ve been bothering Remy and Irene-”

“You won’t. We’ll just…” Joe sighs. “We’ll leave y’all to it, then.”

He leaves. A weight falls from Nadiya’s shoulders, because there was a small part of her that _did_ want to join back up. Joe wasn’t lying: the Do-Good Fellowship had done good things. But it could continue doing those things without her. She’s got her own work to do.

* * *

Kardala knows that the demon – Nadiya, the corner of her brain that is Irene reminds her – is not very emotional. She is not like Remy (the little man, which was a mouthful to say), who got upset when they watched movies. Remy cried at the end of Shrek 2. Kardala did not think there was anything sad about that movie, but apparently she was wrong. Irene is also very emotional, but in less controlled ways. It always throws Kardala off balance, because Irene feels fear and despair and anxiety with equal intensity as she does happiness and excitement and joy. A woman whose heart beats with thunder just as much as it does with love.

But Nadiya. The demon seems heartless. But not today.

“What is wrong?” Kardala booms. When she receives no immediately reply, she puts down her eating utensil and points at Nadiya. “Hey.” She pokes Nadiya. “Demon. Is something the matter?”

Nadiya shrugs. “Not really, Kardala. Just a weird day today.” She leans her cheek on her hand. “It’s nothing.”

Remy leans forward, sensing that it’s not just _nothing._ “Come on, Naddie. Spill the beans.”

“First of all, if you ever call me that nickname again-”

“Understood,” Remy squeaks. “Sorry.”

Ah, but it is sometimes so enjoyable to watch the little man squirm. It’s something that only Nadiya could provoke.

“It’s nothing,” Nadiya repeats. “Joe visited me today.”

According to Remy’s startled reaction, this is not _nothing._ Kardala racks her brain for any memory of that name. Most humans slip beneath her notice. Joe, Joe…

“From the Fellowship,” Nadiya supplies. “Head of R&D. He wanted me – all of us, actually – to come back. They’re rebuilding, or so I hear.”

“And?” Kardala asks. “Did you agree, demon?”

“Are you leaving?” Remy’s question is a little more tearful.

Nadiya sniffs haughtily. “Of course not. Why the fuck would I want to go back to them?”

“Oh.” Remy sits back. “I thought you liked it. All of the science stuff.”

“I have my own _science stuff_ now, jumpboy.” She softens. “Would you want to go back? Remy? Kardala? I told Joe to fuck off, but if you have other ideas…”

Remy looks up at Kardala, then back down. “Nah. Too much work. And we were _technically_ in a cult, so…”

Now for Kardala. Given the chance, would she want to go back? She would get to punch things as much as she wanted, nobody would make her use her ‘indoor’ voice, and if they got the fighting team back together, she would never have to be trapped – Irene would never get to see the light of day again.

They would make her fight all the time. Kardala would never be able to watch TV, or drink hot chocolate, or go for a run around the block with Remy. Kardala would go back to wearing the same old jumpsuit and cloak, and never get to appreciate all of the comfortable clothing that Remy has tailor-made for her. Nobody would understand her. They would try to make her do things she would never want to do, and who in the world deserves to harness the power of a goddess? Nobody has the right to push Kardala around, and sooner or later all of the nice words disappear and the orders start showing their faces, the “just listen to me” and the “follow orders” and the no nice evenings and no calm mornings, and none of _this._

“No.” Kardala picks her fork back up. “No. Kardala will stay here.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kardala cooks. Nadiya takes work home with her. Remy is a superhero. 
> 
> Warnings for: mentions of illness (flu), mentions of kidnapping/non-graphic death

Remy, in this moment, is absolutely certain that he’s dying. “I’m _dying,”_ he whines.

“You’re not dying,” Irene says with a sigh, peering at the thermometer. “You just have the flu. A fever of a hundred degrees. You’ll be fine.”

“I will _not_ be fine,” he groans, shivering and curling up on the couch.

“You certainly won’t be fine if you insist upon going to work tomorrow.” Irene puts her hands on her hips. “You shouldn’t have even gone to work today.” She sighs again. “I’ll go make you some tea-” She pauses. “Damn-”

Nadiya just passed the video game store two blocks away, the limit of their power’s range.

“Little man, are you ill?”

Craning his head to look up at Kardala would take too much effort, so Remy buries his head in the couch cushions and focuses on not feeling like a pile of steaming garbage. “Yeah.” He coughs, shivering so hard the couch squeaks.

“Unacceptable!” Kardala booms. “No sickness can withstand the might of Kardala! Hah! Puny germs! I shall crush them all!”

Before Remy can ask when Kardala got updated on germ theory, something fluffy and warm lands on him. He opens one eye. It’s Kardala’s long white cloak, which she still often wears, with the addition of other garments that Remy sews for her. Remy rolls over and cocoons himself in the cloak, tucking the warm fabric around him. It smells like Kardala, all lightning and sharp ice scent, with a homely touch of a spice, maybe cloves.

Remy dozes until he hears the clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen. Nadiya’s not quite home yet, so that means that Kardala is cooking something. That is never a good sign. Remy struggles to his feet, wrapping the cloak around him like a blanket. It’s twice as long as he is tall, trailing behind him.

“Kardala? What’re you doing?” He croaks.

Kardala turns from the stove. “Is it not obvious that I am cooking? Remy?” She tacks on his name, obviously trying to use it instead of his nickname. “You are unwell. Kardala has a recipe that can help.”

“Recipe? Food?” Remy shuffles over. “I thought we didn’t have any food. Nadiya was going to run to the store tomorrow.” He double-checks that Kardala is using the stove correctly, as to avoid a repeat of the first four times she tried to cook…

“Yes! Food! If Kardala cannot muster up a meal from scraps, then she would be pathetic indeed!” Kardala dumps some chopped onion into the large pot. “This is an ancient recipe that has been passed down for generations, though some changes needed to be made to account for the current lack of ingredients. We are lacking seal meat, for instance.”

“Seal meat?” Remy scrunches up his face. “Uhhh…” That’s said to be an acquired taste. Which would be why it couldn’t be found in grocery stores here, no matter how many times Kardala badgered the managers.

“Kardala substituted frozen fish. And used this pre-made chicken broth. Since we are lacking in other ingredients, she did what the People of the North do best: improvise. Use their wits and ingenuity to make something out of nothing.”

While Kardala speaks, Remy peeks into the pot. A variety of smells waft from the soup simmering within: fish, mushrooms, carrots, onion, other indiscernible scraps of things. The improvisation can certainly be seen: the mushrooms had been mostly moldy, but Kardala had expertly cut around and kept the good parts, the carrots were chunks taken from the discarded tops from today’s lunch, and the onion had also been going bad. There is also a hefty cup or two of rice.

“This already smells so good,” Remy says, staring transfixed at the pot. “And you’ve been cooking for, like, five minutes! Kardala-” He reaches for the pot.

“You cannot eat yet!” Kardala grabs Remy’s shoulder. “It is not ready, little man!” She gets right up into his face. “And _you!_ You are supposed to be resting! You are _ill!_  I left you on the couch and on the couch you will _stay!”_

“Aww…” Remy lets Kardala pick him up around the waist and carry him back to the couch. She gently sets him down and tucks her cloak firmly around him.

“Now rest. I will wake you when food is ready.”

Now possessing a decent level of assurance that Kardala is not going to burn down the kitchen, Remy closes his eyes and lightly sleeps. He is roused when Nadiya comes in.

“You sick?” She gruffly asks, lifting up a corner of the cloak to peek at his face.

In response, Remy coughs.

“Yuck.” Nadiya leaves him to it. “You look like a giant white puffball. Or like Cruella de Vil.”

He groans in return.

“Hey, is Kardala cooking something?” Remy hears Nadiya check on the soup progress, then go into her room, presumably to get away from the aura of sickness emanating from Remy.

Remy sleeps until someone shakes his shoulder. He rolls over and coughs, feeling like a sweaty miserable mess. That person shakes his shoulder again, more forcefully this time. He peeks out.

It’s Kardala. “Soup.”

“Hell yes,” Remy croaks, and sits upright. Kardala puts a warm bowl in his hands.

It is the most wonderful soup Remy has ever tasted. It should be on a cooking show. It’s smooth and rich, with just enough seasoning to be tasty, but not enough to upset his sensitive stomach. He gets halfway through the bowl before the heat and full feeling in his stomach makes him drowsy.

“Rest.” Kardala takes the bowl from his hands. “I will put this in the re-fridge-er-ator. You may eat more later.” She pats his head. “For now, rest.”

So Remy does. Doctor’s orders. Or in this case, immortal thunder goddess’ orders. He wraps Kardala’s cloak around himself and lays back down.

“No, not on the couch, foolish little man.” Kardala scoops him up. “You have a bed. You must sleep there.”

“Whatever you say, ‘dala.” Remy pats her broad arm. “Thanks a bunch. You’re the best.”

He passes out before hearing her response, but can still feel the pleased rumble of her chest as she speaks, and catches a rare note of affection in her voice.

* * *

“Do you think there’s a serial killer?” Remy asks, frowning at his phone.

“What?” Nadiya is _working._ She has a cup of coffee and her laptop on the kitchen table, running through some at-home calculations and hypotheses. Just because it’s Sunday doesn’t mean it’s a day off. Kardala is around doing something, or in the basement of the apartment building, getting in some stress relief with her punching bag. “What are you on about now?”

Remy points at the screen of his phone. “This is like the sixth missing person that’s turned up dead. In like three months. That’s kind of a lot, right? Especially since they haven’t found the murderer yet.”

“Hm.” Nadiya is half-listening. “That is a little strange. You tell me, Sherlock.”

“Well, aren’t most people killed by someone they know? A family member or friend or whatever?” Remy shrugs. “It’s just weird that all of this is going on. But it’s also not like these people are connected in any way. A couple of women, a few guys, an old dude.” He puts the phone closer to his phone and reads the news article while Nadiya tweaks a particularly difficult formula.

“Connor Higgins, age 77, was found dead in an alley on the west side – that’s our area, Nadiya – Monday morning after being declared missing for five days. He died of blunt force trauma to the front of the head, but there is also evidence of malnutrition. This coincides with the other victims recently found. Blah blah blah, they haven’t found the person or persons yet, but the police is doing its best to look into it, yeah.” Remy stretches. “Just weird, Nadiya. I’m worried.”

“And?” She lifts her head and raises an eyebrow. “We’re superheroes. We’ll be fine. And the police will figure it out eventually.”

“Still.” Remy frowns. “Like you said, we _are_ superheroes. Shouldn’t we, like, be trying to save people?”

Not a surprising attitude from Mr. Super-Do-Gooder. “We’re not detectives,” Nadiya retorts. “None of us have any sort of tracking skills. I can turn my body into a weapon, you can jump real good, and we have the power of a goddess on our side. But that doesn’t translate into magically being able to find people, Remy. Let the police handle it. It’s not a serial killer.” She turns back to her laptop and puts on headphones.

Remy gets the hint and leaves her alone.

* * *

Despite what Nadiya says, Remy does one superhero thing a few days later.

A block from the apartment, while his legs are still infused with that quasi-magical power, he comes across a kid, couldn’t be much older than six or seven, standing under a tree. Their dad is reaching up towards a high branch where a sleek gray cat sits, hissing.

“Just come on down now, Slate!” The man is saying, waving his arms. “It’s going to rain, and you don’t want to be stuck up there for that!”

Remy, across the street, frowns. Not only is it going to rain today, but according to Kardala who had been very excited, it was going to be a violent thunderstorm.

“Hey, do you guys need help?” He calls out.

They turn. “Just trying to get him down!” The man calls back. “You any good at climbing trees, kid?”

Kid? Remy’s twenty-seven, but okay. He shrugs. “I can probably manage.” He walks over and stands under the tree, peering up at the branches. Then he takes a deep breath and leaps ten feet into the air, doing a flip before landing neatly on a thick branch a few feet away from the cat.

Slate the cat is now staring at Remy in shock. Below, the man and kid gasp. Remy takes advantage of the cat’s surprise and scoops it up, easily hopping down from the branch. It feels so good to be using his powers again, even for something so relatively easy. Maybe he should look into getting a gymnastics gym membership or joining a parkour club.

“Here.” He hands the cat over.

The kid has stars in his eyes, and the man is staring with shock. “You’re from – from that weird broadcast,” he says. “Uhhh….”

Remy’s watched enough Spiderman movies to know what to do next. He grins and puts his hands on his hips. “It’s nothing, citizen! Happy to help!” He turns away and the early years of his life spent working retail catch up with him as he tacks on: “Have a nice day, sir! Goodbye!”

Remy gets a text from Nadiya two hours later, saying _what did we say about laying low?_

 _Oops,_ he texts back, then hops on Twitter to see how much damage he caused.

Somebody had filmed all of the cat rescue incident, and it now had almost a million views. New headlines were popping up:

RENEGADE SUPERHERO SURFACES – REST OF HIS TEAM STILL UNACCOUNTED FOR

HERO OR VILLAIN? OUR THOUGHTS LEAN TOWARDS THE FORMER.

JUMPBOY SAVES TRAPPED CAT – WHAT NEXT?

And, Remy’s favorite, from the Onion:

SUPERHERO DOES CLICHE SUPERHERO THING. EVERYONE IS SHOCKED.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know there actually is a plot in here? I know. Even I'm surprised!
> 
> Also, a weirdly Remy-focused chapter. Don't know how it happened. *shrugs*
> 
> Kardala's soup (roughly) based off of Suaasat, a Greenlandic Inuit recipe. Did a weirdly large amount of research for such a small thing. I headcanon that Kardala knows how to cook, and has knowledge of traditional Inuit recipes. I know Justin said Alaskan Inuit and not Greenlandic, but it was the closest thing I could find, and meat/onion/potato/rice soup would still be a standard thing, with regional differences.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene gets angry. Kardala shows some restraint. Nadiya stays up to date with the news. Remy enjoys the short-lived joy of pumpkin-flavored foods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for the whole first scene for some sexual harassment: a scene where a man approaches a woman alone in an alley and keeps talking to her when she's uncomfortable, a classic "nice guy" trope. Everything turns out fine in the end.

They only have one car, which Nadiya uses to get to work, since her work is the farthest away, on the far east side of town. Remy’s office is a ten minute walk to the south, and Irene takes fifteen minutes to walk to work, to the north.

Their schedules are like a revolving musical round. Remy leaves first, then Irene, then Nadiya. Remy comes home the earliest, then Irene, then Nadiya just after six o’clock.

But it’s Wednesday, and that means that Nadiya gets out early and is home before Irene. Irene has ducked down an alley that she uses on Wednesdays and other necessary times to discreetly transform into Kardala out of sight of prying eyes. The exact spot varies depending on where Nadiya and Remy are in the apartment, but it’s anywhere from the green dumpster to the spot where the wall has crumbled and loose bricks are scattered across the concrete.

“Hey!” Irene is five feet from the dumpster when someone yells. “Miss? Can you help me?”

Irene half-turns to see a dude walking towards her. Kind of a scruffy guy with a backpack and a sheepish look on his face.

“Hello?” She warily says, keeping herself angled slightly away. “Do you need help?”

“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m trying to get to the train station, could you point me in the right direction?”

“Oh, um,” Irene takes a subtle step to the side as he gets a little too close. “I think it’s down that way when you turn out of here.” She points down the alley to the left. “Um, I think there are signs? I’m sorry I don’t know more-”

“No problem!” He grins widely. “My name’s Shaun.” He holds out his hand for her to shake.

Great. He’s still talking to her. Irene mentally berates herself. She quickly shakes Shaun’s hand, then retracts her hand just as quickly. “I’m sorry, I have to go-”

“No wedding ring?” Shaun asks with a teasing smile. “So, you new in town, uh…”

Irene takes a step back towards the dumpster, clutching her purse in both hands. “Irene. No. Not new in town.” Another step back.

“Then maybe you could show me around a little, Irene, give me some tips on the best places to hang.” Shaun fake-pouts. “Unless you got someone waiting at home for you, baby.”

Think fast, Irene. She takes another step back, and Shaun follows, oblivious. Out of the corner of her eye, the edge of the dumpster comes into view. If Nadiya is in the living room and not in her room, her powers will kick in in another step. But she needs to shake this guy.

When Shaun doesn’t get a response, he crosses his arms. “I asked if you were single or what? Cause I don’t mind if you’re not, but I’d rather know in advance if I’m going to have your boy-toy beating down my door.”

“Not single,” Irene squeaks. Crap, now she has to come up with a convincing lie. “Boyfriend. And girlfriend.” Her face heats up. What is she even _doing_ right now, coming up with something like that? “Waiting for me at home.”

“Oh?” Shaun looks confused. “Okay? So is that a yes or no?”

One more step back, and Irene has passed the dumpster. No powers yet. She shakes her head.

“Well, then at least give me your number,” Shaun presses. “I don’t wanna bother you. I’m not like those other guys, I’m nice. Come on, baby. At least your number?”

Irene shakes her head again, not sure how to get out of this politely. There’s nothing she hates more than being in these kinds of situations alone-

Wait. She’s not alone. She’s _never_ been alone. Even though her powers haven’t kicked in yet, Kardala is still in the back of her head. Kardala has always been with her, even before the Fellowship. She didn’t know it at the time, but there was always a vague feeling of not being alone. An imaginary friend at first, then growing into a feeling of uneasy companionship.

The aching of bones on a thunder-filled night, rubbing her hands together to try and ease the rumble in her muscles. The lack of fear of lightning even when balancing on the top of the metal football stadium bleachers trying to hang a banner for a club. The thrill of getting caught out in the rain on a warm spring day.

“Back off,” she warns as Shaun reaches out to grab her arm. The low buzzing in the back of her head increases, and she silently asks Kardala for permission to borrow a bit of her power. It’s not something she’s ever tried or wanted to try, and she has no idea if it’s going to work, especially out of range of her teammates.

Kardala turns over like a sleeping cat. _If you wish, gentle one,_ she seems to say. It’s as good of a yes as Irene is going to get.

“Aw, don’t be like that.” Shaun, like an idiot, tries to reach for her hand again. “What did I do to make you act like such a bitch all of a sudden?”

The hair on Irene’s arms stands on end, and her chin-length fluffy hair puffs out like she just stuck her finger in an electrical outlet (something that Irene had done as a child, and which had not harmed her at all, to the relief and horror of her parents). In the reflection of Shaun’s terrified eyes, she sees her own eyes start to glow.

“I. Said. No. Back off.” Her voice deepens as she takes another step back, and her legs start to tingle. She’s in range. Kardala is coming back. _Hold on for a second?_ Irene silently asks. _I want to do this on my own._

 _Hm._ Kardala bides her time, suspicious that Irene is going to try and suppress her entirely.

“I – I-” Shaun steps back and puts his hands to his shoulders. “I didn’t mean anything by it, darling, was just a compliment-”

“I suggest you be more aware of when your _compliments_ are unwanted,” Irene retorts. She can feel herself getting taller, more muscular, her hair lengthening and fanning out even more. “If you couldn’t see how uncomfortable I was, then you would be lost in a snowstorm a foot out of your home, you would stab yourself with a knife as soon as you touched it, ignorant useless feeble lemming-”

And there’s Kardala, impatient. _Hold on hold on!_ Irene mentally shouts, feeling her control start to slip. _Let him go, don’t –_

_He insulted you. He deserves-_

_To be let go to learn his mistake._ Stopping Kardala from punching Shaun, or doing worse, is like dragging on the wheel of a car careening down a slippery mountain road. _What would be more satisfying, to just crush him easily, no fight involved, or to scare him into running away? A greater challenge that properly requires the finesse of a deity-_

“Little lemming, you will remember this day.” Kardala looms over Shaun. “You will heed this warning, and you will _never_ be as ugly and weak as a spongy wilted patch of snow in a pristine tundra, you will _never_ fail so miserably at generating even the most basic of respect when dealing with others, and You.” She leans in close and raises her voice. Shaun is staring up at her, frozen. “You will _never again_ approach a woman alone! Now leave! Before Kardala changes her mind and pummels you to dust!”

Wisely, he turns tail and runs. Irene sinks into Kardala, letting herself float as they walk the rest of the way home. Kardala is never afraid. Kardala has never walked down a street in the dark and stopped to call her mom because she was too scared. Kardala has never texted Remy in a panic.

 _But Kardala has never faced all these things,_ Kardala retorts, frowning at the street. _Kardala has never faced the cruelty of mankind and succeeded in remaining gentle and kind. Kardala would turn bitter and furious. As the movies say, grace under pressure. That is your strength, Irene._

Irene is silent the rest of the way home, thoughtful.

When Kardala gets home, Remy and Nadiya are waiting at the door. Nadiya has her arms crossed.

“Thunder Goddess shows local man the error of his ways.” Remy says, reading off the small screen of his phone. “Man vows never to harass a woman again, goes on lengthy rant about the wrongs of ignoring the polite no of a lady. Oh, and a good one from the Onion: So-Called Nice Guy Admits he May Have Been an Asshole.”

“What did you _do?”_ Nadiya demands. “How did you scare this man so badly that he posted about it on social media mere minutes after it happening?”

Kardala proudly puts her hands on her hips. “I did not punch him,” she announces. “Let that be known. Kardala did not punch the lemming.”

“Whatever.” Nadiya rubs her eyes. “At least the media seems to like it.”

“And you’re okay, right?” Remy is always worried about that, always keeping an eye on Irene. “You’re fine?”

Kardala pokes at the fluffy ball of warmth in the back of her mind. _You good?_ She asks

Irene uncurls. Her mental smile is so bright that Kardala can physically feel it. _I’m going to be okay._

Kardala grins. “We are excellent!”

 _That was a weird lie,_ she thinks, frowning as soon as she is alone. _The boyfriend and girlfriend. You are not a liar. Irene?_

Irene doesn’t respond at first. _It’s nothing. Forget about it._

But Kardala doesn’t forget. And neither does Irene.

* * *

Remy is on a quest for the best cupcakes. It is not a very difficult quest, since Irene already told him where to find the bakery.

“Hello.” A shortish man in his mid-forties is at the counter of the quaint bakery. “How can I help you today?” He’s wearing the cutesy apron of the Cutie Pie Bakery, with a name badge that identifies him as Larry. Gina’s husband, according to Irene, who was apparently instantly best friends with them.

“Uh, I’ll just take a cupcake please,” Remy says, shifting from foot to foot, fidget spinner in hand (of course). Cute place, long line.

“Sure thing. Would you like pumpkin or cinnamon apple?”

“Pumpkin!” It’s turning cold and fall flavors in are in full swing. Pumpkin granola bars at the grocery store, pumpkin spiced pumpkin seeds at Trader Joe’s, and desserts. So many pumpkin desserts, and Remy was _loving_ it.

Larry takes a cupcake from the counter shelf and takes out a bag of icing. “And your first name, please?”

“Remy.” He tugs on a loose loc of hair. “Actually, technically it’s Christopher, but everybody calls me Remy.”

“Is that so?” Larry draws a swirling R on the cupcake. “Well, Christopher Remy, have a nice day.”

Remy eats the cupcake on the way home. Yum. So good. He should have gotten some for Nadiya and Irene too. But sometimes Remy just needs a little treat for himself. It’s a good day, sunny and happy, no fighting in the apartment, so he deserves something special. Next time he’ll get enough for everyone, he promises himself, skipping along as he walks home. Next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Plot. Mystery story.   
> Also me: uhh now this is kind of a romance-themed story too? Idk? 
> 
> Headcanon that because it's mentioned that the augmentation process only amplifies things that are already there, Kardala was not created by the Stimplant process, only brought to the forefront, and that Irene has been vaguely aware of her presence for her whole life. 
> 
> Why did I make all of Kardala's insults so...weird? I tried really hard to find Alaskan Inuit insults, and didn't have much luck on that front. So I improvised and *griffin voice* did not do as good of a job as I'd like!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene breaks some furniture. Kardala gets impatient. Remy makes Nadiya cry. Nadiya...cries?
> 
>  
> 
> *banging cymbals together* Romantic interlude! Romantic interlude!

Irene has had a miserable day. It’s been half-drizzling, half-snowing, and the combination of cold and wet and slippery has dampened her spirits. Add that to the fact that she lost one of her favorite earrings, tripped on the sidewalk on the way home and soaked her tights and the hem of her skirt, and had to deal with a particularly insensitive coworker. _And_ she hadn’t been paying attention when she made her lunch this morning and hadn’t noticed that her bread had gotten moldy. _And_ she had forgotten to go the store for more bread, so she’d have to stop somewhere tomorrow morning. _And_ she had to get in early tomorrow to help with a difficult schedule issue.

She’s sitting in the kitchen with a mug of tea, scrolling through the news on her phone, when Remy comes in from his run. She barely notices him busying himself getting a snack, because Kardala is starting to prod at her. Again. For the twelfth time this week.

 _Stop trying to avoid it,_ Kardala seems to say, grumbling like the trunks of ancient trees forced to sway in a thunderstorm.

 _Avoid what?_ She retorts. _Stop it. Not in the mood today._

_You like him. You like her too. Both of them. Kardala is not ignorant in the ways of mankind. But Kardala does not understand your reluctance to act upon your feelings. Just-_

_Shut up!_ Irene closes her eyes and curls her hands around the edge of the table. _You know I’m scared, and yet you keep on poking and prodding and bothering me!_ Her eyes are starting to ache behind her eyelids as her head starts to throb.

 _It is simple. Kardala cannot help that you are weak, unwilling to take a chance._ Kardala, restless as being contained for so long, shifts. She’s getting impatient for Nadiya to come home. _If you will not, I will-_

“Shut up!” Irene snaps. She stands, scraping the chair back. “Just shut up, Kardala! I don’t want to talk about it!” She slams her hands down on the table and hears a crack. “Leave me alone, okay? It was nothing, I didn’t mean anything by it!”

In the silence that follows her outburst, Irene realizes three things:

One: She just said that aloud.

Two: Kardala is shocked into silence. That corner of her mind is still and empty.

Three: Remy is standing across the kitchen table, staring at her in shock. “Bad day?” He offers, voice squeaky.

Irene nods. The fight and fury washes away from her body. Her shoulders droop and she leans against the table.

“Hug?” Remy offers, still keeping his distance. Irene nods again and meets him halfway. She notices the large crack in the kitchen table, running from one corner for almost a foot. Oops. Guess she’s just really good at breaking and ruining everything-

“Aw, shit, don’t cry, Irene.” Remy scoops her up in a hug, walking both of them backwards into the living room to settle on the couch. “We all have bad days. This one just sucks a lot, huh?” She nods into his shoulder. Remy is slightly taller than her, but all bone and sinewy muscle where she is soft.

Because it’s Remy, nothing else needs to be said. They sit on the couch together.

This feels nice. This is _exactly_ what Irene was afraid of. Somehow, she’s gotten hopelessly attached to Remy. And Nadiya. And not just in the normal way that she extends her love to every person she meets. This is serious and genuine, and not just all smiles and placating words. She can argue with them, she can disagree and find that they’ve grown stronger as a result. There’s a coldness in her bones that warms when she’s near them.

 _You see?_ Kardala rumbles.

 _Yeah, yeah._ It’s as close to an apology as Irene is willing to give right now. _I’m working on it._

When she sniffles and pulls away, Remy lets go. “So, I was thinking we could have pasta for dinner,” he says. “Like, while we have fresh gourds, some sort of squash sauce? I think I could whip up something like that. Nadiya could use math to help me cut up the squash the best way.”

Irene smiles. “Yeah, that sounds nice.” She yawns. “I’ll be in my room for now. Might take a nap until Nadiya gets home.” There’s nothing worse than a late afternoon nap, but she really deserves it today. Technically, it’s both her and Remy’s room, with two twin-sized beds squished into the small space. Neither of them wanted to intrude on Nadiya’s privacy. The more space Nadiya had to withdraw and be alone, the better her mood.

“Okay.” Remy pats her shoulder. “Hope your day goes a little better.”

“Thanks.” Irene leans down and kisses him. On the lips, nearly missing. “You too.”

She takes five steps away before realizing what she’s just done. In the doorway of the hallway, she freezes, then steels herself and looks over her shoulder.

Remy is sitting on the couch, one hand pressed to his mouth. She’s never seen him sit this still. His eyes are wide, staring at the wall. He notices Irene staring, and his eyes flicker up to meet hers.

“S-Sorry-” Irene doesn’t know what she’s apologizing for, but here she is stuttering out an apology while standing in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself. “I – I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be,” Remy replies, distant like he’s on autopilot. “It’s fine.” He slowly lowers his hand. He clears his throat. “Uh…So…”

“Um…”

“So what does this mean, Irene?” Remy seems to snap back into himself. He pats the couch cushion next to him. An invitation to sit. Warily, Irene takes it, scrunching the hem of her cardigan between her hands. “What – I – what’s going on? Why,” his already flushed cheeks get even darker, “why’d you kiss me? Not that I’m complaining or anything, because, like, I’m totally into you too if that’s where we’re going, I just didn’t want to make any assumptions.”

Irene sits and collects her thoughts. What _is_ going on? She had done something spur-of-the-moment, and now had to figure out why. But Remy’s not angry. He’s not upset or mad or disgusted, and he said that he liked her too. Maybe Kardala was right. Maybe taking chances wasn’t such a bad thing.

“I think I like you,” she finally says. A flat and simple way to say something quite the opposite. “And I don’t know what I was doing, but I think I want to try doing…something.”

“Oh.” Remy, unnaturally hesitant, reaches out for her hand. She puts it in his. He squeezes it. “I think I want that too. And,” he frowns, “and Kardala?”

Irene properly laughs for the first in three days. Three long rainy days. “Oh, I think Kardala will make it very clear on how she feels,” she says, feeling a smile start to make its way back onto her face.

“O-Okay?” Remy laughs too. “This is going to be so weird,” he says. “Me, you, a Thunder Goddess, and-”

“-And Nadiya,” Irene finishes. She wilts. “Nadiya hates us.”

“Aw, no, come on,” Remy defends. “Nadiya doesn’t hate us. She doesn’t hate you, or me, or Kardala. She’s just shy. And grumpy. I bet she likes us a hell of a lot more than she pretends to.”

Irene squeezes Remy’s hand, because a huge flaw in her half-formed plan just came up. “Do you – do you like Nadiya too?” She asks, worried that her voice is too quiet for Remy to hear.

Remy looks down and cocks his head to the side. A half-shrug. Unsure. “Kind of,” he says. “I think so. I don’t know, do you?”

“I like her much more than I did three months ago,” Irene admits. “And Kardala is…okay with her. Not quite the sinister demon she used to be. But I don’t know if she really likes us. I’m not sure if she would care about things like that.”

“Should we…talk to her?” Remy suggests. “Maybe I could talk to her, one on one. See how things go.”

Irene nods. “Okay.” She yawns again. “I’m going to take a nap. For real this time.”

Remy lets go of her hand and looks down. “Could you maybe…kiss me again?” He quietly asks.

“Aw Remy, I can do that!” Irene cups Remy’s cheeks and gently kisses him, this time less nervous and slower. He wraps a hand around the back of her head before they separate, both with silly smiles on their faces. Irene’s heart is fluttering, light and hopeful.  

“Have a good nap,” Remy says. “See you later.”

* * *

Nadiya comes home to a huge crack in the kitchen table. “Well.” She puts her hands on her hips and stares at Remy. “Care to explain?”

He’s standing in front of the stove stirring a pot of pasta. “Um?” He sheepishly grins. He’s bouncing from foot to foot, seemingly full of energy. “Irene had a bad day.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll just go ahead and fix it,” Nadiya rummages in the junk drawer. “Nadiya will fix everything! And I’ll do it with _science!”_

“That’s just duct tape,” Remy points out. “Is that what you call science-”

“Ssh.” Nadiya neatly tapes up the gash in the wood. She uses one of her hands as a pair of scissors to cut the tape to make it even neater. “Science.”

Remy giggles and Nadiya’s heart turns over. Like flipping a pancake with a heavy thump, because Remy is carefree and happy and, despite every barrier that Nadiya has erected around her heart, that makes her happy too. Damn these two, or three if you counted Kardala (which Nadiya always did).

“Little man!” Kardala’s booming voice comes from the down the hallway.

“Uh Kardala-” Remy has a second to look over his shoulder before Kardala barrels into the room. She scoops up Remy and tosses him into the air once, just to show off her strength. He yelps, flailing in a completely useless way, dropping the spoon he had been using to stir the pasta. Kardala plants a big kiss on Remy’s cheek.

“Yeah, yeah,” he pats her cheek, face dark. “I guess that’s what Irene meant, huh? A little enthusiastic there, Kardala.”

Kardala beams at that, then sets Remy down on his feet. She pats his shoulder, almost knocking him down. “Kardala is not one to hide her feelings! Not like some other people! I am not a coward!”

“Okay, that’s good.” Remy awkwardly pats her arm. “Um, yeah. Good. Uhhh…” He glances over at Nadiya, who now feels like she’s intruding. “Dinner will be ready in, like, fifteen minutes?”

“Excellent!” Kardala ruffles Remy’s hair, then leaves the kitchen.

Nadiya sits at the kitchen table. She brushes off some junk, mostly sticky notes, pens, and all the useless tech trinkets that Remy leaves everywhere. She props her chin on her hand. “So? What the fuck was up with that?”

She didn’t think it was possible for Remy to blush even more, but he somehow manages. “Uh, you know, just Kardala being her usual enthusiastic self.”

An obvious lie. Nadiya raises an eyebrow, but Remy doesn’t budge. Weird. They don’t really keep secrets from each other, but there’s something else going on here.

“Whatever.” Nadiya decides to drop it. For now. Then, deadpan: “Hey, your pasta’s burning.”

“Fuck!” Remy scrambles for his fallen spoon before diving for the not-actually-burning pasta. He shoots Nadiya a dramatic betrayed look. “Hey! Don’t scare me like that!”

She’s too busy giggling. Before she met these fools, how long had it been since she was able to make dumb jokes like that? How long since she was able to have roommates that she could stand for more than five minutes? How long since she had friends?

* * *

It’s during a commercial break of the MST3k Thanksgiving marathon, halfway through _Girl in Gold Boots,_ that Remy can’t take it anymore. It’s just him and Nadiya on the couch with blankets and pillows and mountains of snacks. Kardala and Irene are off somewhere, or down in the basement.

“Should have bought a turkey,” Remy says with a full mouth, ignoring Nadiya’s glare.

“Did _you_ want to cook a turkey?” She challenges. “Because that’s way too much work for me. Besides, the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving method works just fine.” That, of course, being eating whatever random food they happened to have. Popcorn, take-out pizza, and a fudgy bakery cake, plus whatever snacks and frozen meals they had. The only vaguely-Thanksgiving-like food was a big bowl of mashed potatoes, because Irene had _insisted_ that they eat something semi-related to the holiday.

They fall into silence. The commercial break is unbearably long for Remy, who starts fidgeting. They’ve turned the volume down while the bright and beguiling advertisements play.

It’s been a week. One whole week, seven entire days, since Irene had kissed him. And despite what he had told her, he still hadn’t talked to Nadiya. Saying it was one thing but following through was probably the most difficult thing he’s ever done. Nadiya is beautiful in an intimidating way, and even more terrifyingly intelligent. There’s also something in the way she holds herself, slightly aloof.

“Uh, Nadiya?” The words are out of Remy’s mouth before he thinks of what he’s going to say next.

“Hm?” She half-turns.

“Nothing.” Remy wishes that a hole would open under the couch. “Never mind.” Then, after an instant of panicked self-reflection, he blurts: “Irene kissed me!”

“What?” Whatever Nadiya had been expecting him to say, this wasn’t it. She opens her mouth, then closes it again. “What?”

Now that he’s started talking, Remy has no choice but to keep going, like trying to chase after a ball rolling down a hill. “I mean, she kissed me first, and then I asked her to do it again, and then Kardala – and I guess we’re, like, a thing now, or two things if you count Kardala as separate I don’t really know, I should probably ask her and be clearer, but I don’t know-”

Nadiya’s shoulders have risen. “And?” She crosses her arms and puts her feet up on the couch cushion. “Why should I care?”

Why indeed? What Nadiya is _really_ asking, though is why Remy is acting so weird about telling her about it. He knows her well enough to see past the disaffected veneer she paints on. Nadiya is surprised, interested, and above all curious. Always curious: Why did Irene kiss him? Why is Remy telling Nadiya? Why is Kardala involved too? Why is Remy so nervous in this moment? Why, why, why? That’s how Nadiya goes.

And the raised shoulders. The defensive posture. The way that Nadiya’s chin is a little too high, her eyes a little too sharp. The commercial break is over, but neither of them have moved for the remote to turn up the volume again.

“I’m telling you because – because I – I think I kinda like you too, Nadiya,” Remy stammers. Oh, now he’s done it.

Nadiya’s eyes widen. Her back stiffens. “You. _What.”_

“Sorry,” is Remy’s first response. He scoots a few inches away. “It’s just – I thought I might as well be honest, you know, since we’re all living together, and honesty is always the best policy or whatever-”

He stops at Nadiya’s raised hand. She’s not looking at him, instead staring at the coffee table. “Why.” Her spiky voice has softened slightly. Maybe she won’t skewer him with her anger, just stab him a little bit. “Why, Remy?”

“Why – why what?”

“Why do you _like_ me? Why do you like _me?”_

“Uh?” Where is the self-confident boasting scientist that Remy knows? “Because you’re awesome? And um, even though you sometimes are kind of prickly, you’re not actually mean, and you kind of care about people.” He rubs the back of his neck, wishing that words would come easily to him now like they normally do. “Besides all of the obvious stuff, like that you’re _really_ pretty and super smart and like, the greatest problem solver, and you take all of the spiders outside instead of killing them, and-”

And Nadiya is crying. It’s one or two tears at most before she angrily dashes them away, but it’s enough to make Remy to shut up.

“Fuck you,” she says with a complete lack of malice. “You’re too sappy, jumpboy. Why’d you gotta go and say all of that nice stuff?”

“Um, uh, damn it-” An earthquake would be less of an emergency situation than this. Nadiya never cries. She didn’t even shed a tear during their Ghibli movie marathon, and Remy cried during every movie. Even _Kardala_ cried that night, at the end of _Grave of the Fireflies._ Nadiya doesn’t cry but she just cried a little bit now and Remy is so not prepared to deal with this. “Do you – do you want a hug? Should I hug you?”

She waves him off. “No, no hug. Just give me a second.” She blows her nose on a napkin. “Let’s just keep watching. I am now super in the mood to eat a whole pint of ice cream and laugh along to shitty movies.”

So was that…a yes? A no? What kind of response was even given there? Remy quickly pretends that he’s not hanging off Nadiya’s every word in an effort to discern her opinion, but it must show anyway.

Nadiya scoots closer to him on the couch and wraps an arm around his waist. She’s half a head taller, broad where Remy is thin. Not squishy and soft like Irene, not a tank like Kardala. Just…Nadiya. Remy squirms halfway onto her lap, legs intertwined with hers, head on her shoulder.

“So…” He lets the unasked question hang.

It takes her a second to respond. “You’re not half bad, Remy. I’m good if you’re good. Just not so much of that messy kissy stuff.”

“Deal.” Not that Remy’s the biggest fan of overzealous PDA either. “We’re good then.”

Kardala comes back to find Remy asleep on the couch, still mostly in Nadiya’s lap. Her face breaks into a wide grin. “Little man-”

“Shush!” Nadiya puts a finger to her lips. On the screen, some terrible movie is playing. “Do you want to wake him up, Kardala?”

Kardala shakes her head no, then tiptoes over and plops down on the other side of Remy. He shifts in his sleep and puts a hand on her leg. “Hm. You know, demon, you are not so terrible after all.”

“Hmph.” Nadiya turns up her nose at this. “You’re pretty okay yourself. Now I’ve had quite enough of admitting that I actually have feelings. If you don’t mind, I’d like to go back to watching bad movies, please.”

And because it’s them, the three (or four) of them, that’s that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason Irene and Nadiya's scene didn't fit in here, but rest assured they will be in next chapter!
> 
> MST3k re-run commercial breaks are crazy long, that's why I picked that show? Because it's like fifteen minutes of commercials in a row.


	7. Chapter 7

So Remy and Irene. Remy and Kardala. Remy and Nadiya.

And Irene and Nadiya? That was a more complicated story.

See, Nadiya doesn’t hate Irene. In fact, she quite likes her. If pressed, she would say she likes her just as much as Remy. But nobody presses her, because Irene doesn’t make moves and Nadiya doesn’t confess her feelings to people out of the blue, unlike a certain _someone_ (she eyes Remy, who airs his emotions often and vocally).

They just…live. They don’t talk about it. Remy kisses Irene when Nadiya’s not around, presumably, because Nadiya only sees Irene when Remy’s not there, due to the restrictions of their convoluted lives. Kardala and Nadiya aren’t close, but they don’t fight so much anymore. Nadiya and Remy hang out more. They go roller skating one day, then ice skating when the pond downtown freezes over. Remy, despite being an expert gymnast, is no good at either, and Nadiya is no better. But they have a fun time, and that’s all that matters. Speaking of fun, movie nights have now become a regular weekend thing. Saturday night is a Netflix choice, Sunday night is MST3k or Star Trek re-run. They all cram onto the too-small couch. Remy in the middle sandwiched between Kardala and Nadiya, somehow taking up all of the room despite being the smallest one. They binge-watch Lord of the Rings and Star Wars and the Harry Potter movies, though they have to stop watching movies with weather or lightning-related magic involved, as Kardala complains about the inaccuracy. They don’t watch movies that involve gymnastics or polymer-based science either, because that starts six different shades of arguments. They _do_ watch _Flubber._

But above all, Nadiya grudgingly admits that for the first time in her life, she’s happy. Not in the exuberant way that Remy is, or the quietly cheerful way that Irene is, but in her own manner. The lab work is going well. Home life is going great. She has a few friends she can trust, routines that keep her calm, and fun adventures, even if those fun adventures are just more late-night trips to Denny’s or whatever weird place they want to go to.

“So I was thinking if we leave two days before Christmas Eve,” Irene is saying. She ducks under Nadiya’s arm to grab a few slices of apple to put into her adorably patterned lunch tins. “We could miss most of the traffic and get up to the cabin easily, then head back on Christmas Day.”

“Sounds fine to me.” Nadiya dollops out a healthy amount of hummus into two containers, then seals both up. One in her lunch bag, the other in Irene’s. A small bag of pita chips accompanies the snack. “If Remy can get off work.” None of them really celebrate Christmas, choosing other religious holidays or none at all. Christmas was really an excuse to go on a mini vacation up to Irene’s family’s cabin while they had paid time off work.

“Already asked him. And I’m good to go too.” Irene finishes wrapping up some crustless sandwiches that are shaped like cat heads, with too-cute whiskers and eyes. Nadiya feels her face heat up, both from the sheer horror of the fact that she’s going to have to eat this at lunch, and because ugh, sometimes Irene just outdoes herself.

Well, two can play this game. Nadiya rummages through a few kitchen drawers before finding what she’s looking for: a cookie cutter. She stealthily takes the brownies they had baked yesterday and cuts two into heart shapes, then wraps them in plastic wrap. She slips one into Irene’s bag, avoiding the other woman’s keen gaze.

“Aw, Nadiya,” Irene coos, because Nadiya is not a very sneaky person. “This is very cute. Thank you.”

Oh no, it’s Irene’s super-sincere voice. Nadiya fumbles to zip up her lunch bag. “Uh, I’m going to be late. I’d better go.” A silly excuse, because Irene always leaves before her.

Irene steps closer with a gentle smile, then seems to lose her nerve like she always does. Well, Nadiya is having none of that weak hesitant crap this Tuesday morning. Without giving herself time to yell at herself for how stupid she’s being, Nadiya leans down and pecks Irene on the cheek.

“That’s it, though,” she warns. “That’s all you’ll get from me. None of that mushy shit.”

It’s like Nadiya just gave Irene a winning lottery ticket. Her eyes are bright and soft, ooey-gooey melty and sweet. “Of course,” she says, because it’s _Irene_ and Irene understands. Irene always understands, even when Nadiya doesn’t say anything.

* * *

Cabin week, as they’ve started calling it, is all movies all the time. Okay, that’s a lie. Sometimes Remy sleeps and eats, and at one point they hook up Irene’s old TV to Remy’s laptop and spend the day playing video games. Mario Party, a first-person shooter that Nadiya wrecks them on, and every Jackbox game that existed. Then video games turn into board games, which turns into card games, which turns into exuberant fights about those games that end with everyone laughing.

It’s a good weekend for everyone. Kardala tears up a tree stump with her bare hands. Nadiya stops working for an entire day. She joins them in an impromptu snowball fight that gets weirdly intense because of the superpowers and the fact that Remy _must_ make the absolute best fort to defend himself with. Irene pops in to bake cookies. That day ends with all of them piling in front of the fireplace with hot chocolate, aforementioned cookies, and piles of blankets and pillows. Remy falls asleep with Nadiya half on top of him, cuddled into Kardala’s chest.

The next day is their last day before they head back to Philly. They spend it in and out of the cabin, spending some time away from each other.

“I can’t believe it!” Remy has taken this time to get back in contact with someone he hasn’t talked to in a while: Mary Sage. Mary looks healthier than she ever did in the Fellowship, her hair bushier and healthier-looking, her smile brighter. She says she’s somewhere on the West coast, living as far away from all of the Do-Good nonsense as possible. “I was mostly joking before about you having two monster girlfriends, but man oh man, Remy!”

“Aw well, you know Mary,” Remy pauses to sip at his cup of coffee. “Things just worked out, you know?”

She flips her hair over one shoulder. “Well, I’m glad that _something_ good came out of the Do-Shit’s meddling nonsense. After what they put you through, at least you got to be happy at the end.”

“Yeah. And what about you, Mary? Are you doing okay?”

Mary shrugs. “I’m getting there. Things are looking up, at least.” Her strained smile eases. “And there’s always hope for the future. I don’t need a Bible quote to tell you that.”

Remy catches movement out of the corner of his eye, sees Nadiya and Kardala having a wood-chopping contest, Kardala with an axe and Nadiya with her bare hands. He smiles. Hope for the future.

* * *

Cabin Week ends. They go home and back to work. New Year’s Eve is spent downtown at the ice skating rink. Remy falls but turns it into a sick gymnastics move. Nadiya bundles up to a ridiculous degree. Kardala is absurdly good at ice skating and draws altogether too much attention, but it’s the fun kind that makes them all giddy, because they’re _gods_ now, and who cares?

* * *

Two weeks into the new year, on an uneventful Thursday evening, Remy doesn’t come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always loved when Mary made those couple of jokes about Kardala/Irene and Nadiya being Remy's monster girlfriends/super-significant others, and Remy/Griffin just didn't...deny it. 
> 
> Also: plot time! Disclaimer for those people that worry about these kinds of stories: I'm not going to dial up the angst too much, and it is going to have a happy ending.


	8. Chapter 8

Irene comes home to a dark apartment. “Remy?” She calls out, plopping her purse on the entry table. “You home?”

She checks the fridge first. Maybe he left a note saying he had gone to the store. But there’s no note and when she checks, his work bag isn’t here. Maybe he stayed late for a project. She shoots him a quick text and quietly worries, but pushes that worry down. It’s fine. It’s nothing. Remy’s fine. He’ll be home soon-

The door unlocks and opens, and Irene jumps up from the couch. Her face falls. It’s Nadiya, not Remy.

“Everything okay?” Nadiya asks.

“Did Remy contact you?” Irene asks, her voice rising. All of a sudden she doesn’t feel so good. “Did he – did he say he was staying late or going somewhere-”

“No?” Nadiya looks around the room. “Is he not home yet?”

She shakes her head. “I’m going to c-call him,” she stutters as she pulls out her phone and shakily calls Remy. The phone rings and rings before going to voicemail. Irene hangs up.

“Try again.” Nadiya’s voice is quiet and scared. “Call him again.”

The phone rings. It keeps ringing. Nadiya grabs Irene’s hand and squeezes it. “Pick up, Remy, damn it,” she mutters.

He doesn’t pick up. Not on the third call, nor the fourth, not even on the fifteenth time Irene calls. “Pick up!” She yells into the voicemail. “Remy, please, just pick up! We – we-” She scrubs her eyes with the scratchy sleeve of her cardigan. “We’re worried about you, we’re worried that something’s happened, just – just call me back or text me, please, Remy. Please.”

She stares at the phone and cries, because after all of the crazy shit they’ve gone through, they’re going to lose Remy to some weird serial killer? Nadiya settles her on the couch and, for the first time ever, hugs her.

Then Nadiya calls the police, and reports Remy missing.

* * *

We see a shot of a fire in a dark room, and a sleek cell phone being thrown in. The casing shrivels and blackens, and there’s a small explosion as the battery catches. The screen, showing fifteen missed calls and a dozen unanswered texts, splinters and within minutes, the phone is nothing more than a pile of ash that is pushed back with the rest of the cinders.

* * *

Nadiya shuffles through her morning routine. Coffee, bagel, sitting and staring at her phone. The apartment is quiet. Cold. She gets up from the duck-taped kitchen table and peeks into Remy and Irene’s room. It’s empty, because Irene had crashed in Nadiya’s bed last night, citing the desire to not be alone.

Alone. Nadiya’s not alone now, not yet. She still has Irene and- just Irene for now. Wherever Remy is, he’s out of range. No Remy, no Kardala.

Well, Nadiya’s about to do a whole lot of work to ensure that she will _never_ be alone. She had told Remy that they weren’t detectives.

Nadiya has always loved proving people wrong, even herself.

“Nadiya? What’re you doing?”

She doesn’t look up. “Researching. I called off work. Called your office too, said you had the flu.”

Irene comes into the kitchen, in her pajamas with a blanket around her shoulders. The blanket trails on the ground and makes her look even smaller. Softer. More scared. “Oh.” She sits at the table, careful not to dislodge the mountain of papers strewn across its surface.

“Six victims,” Nadiya says, standing to grab at a far paper, scribbling a note on it. “Six victims found dead.” She’s not counting Remy. Not yet. “Unrelated, according to the police. But all the same cause of death, same region, same signs. Same killer. What’s more,” she raises a finger, proud of her only breakthrough that morning, “what’s more is that they were all missing for exactly five days. Which means…”

“Which means we have time,” Irene finishes, perking up. “We have five days.”

“Four,” Nadiya corrects. “We don’t know when Remy was taken. We have to assume that we only have four now.” She straightens her shoulders. She’s the smartest scientist ever. She can probably wing being a detective. “But four days is plenty of time. Easy.”

Her confidence brings something stronger to Irene, who stops looking like she’s on the verge of tears. “Right. Plenty of time. So what have you found so far?”

Nothing, really. But Nadiya doesn’t want to voice that particularly pessimistic thought, so she sticks with what she _does_ know.

“First victim: Carly Johnson, twenty-four years old. Grad student, single, upper middle class. White. No indication of having any romantic partners of any gender.” Nadiya shuffles some papers. “Parents have an alibi, as does her brother. Roommate has been cleared too, and beyond that, the whole of the university could be suspects.”

Irene leans forward and looks at the papers. “Alright. Pretty much nothing in common with Remy. Go on.”

“Second victim: Cody Whitacre, thirty-five years old. Guy lived a quiet life, couldn’t get much on him except that he was married, but the wife has a solid alibi. Worked in some office downtown, left for an errand one day and didn’t come home. No kids. White, lower middle class, but not poor.”

“Hm.” Irene scoots her chair over so she’s sitting next to Nadiya. “A guy and a girl. And they didn’t know each other at all?”

Nadiya shakes her head. “Not at all. And even though they were both youngish, the next two are older. Sergeant Blakemore was sixty-three. Retired military vet, lived alone. And Burnie Hartin, fifty-two, worked in a hospital as a medical coder. Lived with his husband and three kids, plus his husband’s mother.”

“Whoever this is, they’re not just picking on people living alone,” Irene muses. “Hey, do you think they – whoever they are,” she pauses and tears up before wiping her cheeks. “Do you think they know who Remy is? That he’s a superhero? Could they have targeted him for that?”

Interesting question, one that Nadiya hadn’t really considered. “I don’t think so,” she starts, slowly. “It’s a possibility, but they seem to be picking people at random. It’s possible that he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. They’re not boasting or leaving calling cards. They don’t really seem to care about the attention, or they would be asking for ransoms or making threats.”

They sit in silence. After a second, Nadiya decides that what Irene needs is some physical comfort, so she reaches out and takes her hand. Irene clutches it like Nadiya’s pulling her ashore.

“All from around here?” Irene asks, quiet. So quiet. Nadiya, for the first time, wishes that Kardala was here, because Kardala would be rushing to try solution after solution, when it looks like all Irene wants to do is sink into despair and stay there.

“No.” Nadiya shows an article she’d printed out. “Fifth victim: Carla Nakano, from California. She was here visiting her friends. Nineteen years old.” She gets a quiet “oh my God” from Irene at that. “We have a better timeframe on that, since her friends immediately realized she was missing. Middle of the day, and she was found exactly five days later, down to the hour.”

“Two women, and since the last one was a man, that makes four men?” Irene confirms. “All different ages, different careers, even different ethnicities. It’s just,” she sighs. “It’s just so random.”

“Random,” Nadiya agrees. It feels like she’s just tried a hypothesis for the sixtieth time, only to have it backfire in the same violent and frustrating way. She’s getting nowhere. She’s done nothing. Useless, stupid, good-for-nothing-

“Okay.” Irene brushes back her hair. “Show me some of these articles. Maybe what we need is a second pair of eyes.”

Nadiya needs to get herself together. She doesn’t _give up._ She doesn’t just _stop_ because of one tiny moment of frustration. She keeps going, and she _solves_ the problem. And if Irene can keep going even as the other woman shakes and trembles in fear, then there’s no fucking way that Nadiya is going to give up on Remy now.


	9. Chapter 9

It’s three o’clock in the morning, and Irene isn’t sleeping. Saturday, technically, after a whole day spent trying to find some link between victims, something that might help them find Remy.

Remy. Gone.

This makes Irene start crying all over again, even though she thought she was done with all of that. She’s exhausted, from fear and desperation, from the countless hours spent digging through newspaper articles and police reports, trying to find something. Anything.

The room, Nadiya’s bedroom, is dark and still. Irene buries her head in her pillow to muffle her distress. Nadiya’s a light sleeper, prone to insomnia. They shouldn’t even be sleeping, what are they _doing_ wasting time right now-

But they’re not going to get anywhere being so tired. Fresh minds will solve the problem much faster than worn ones. Irene still has a festering ember of guilt in her chest. She should be working. Trying her best.

Nadiya is next to her on the bed, but Irene still feels alone. The constant presence in the back of her head that she associates with Kardala is dimmed. There are flickers of frustration, confusion, fury, that give Irene little sparks to keep going. Kardala wants Remy back too, and she rages at being helpless. But she’s also quiet. She knows that there is nothing she can do, and she’s terrified, watching one of the eventualities she’d always dreaded coming to pass, because Kardala is _trapped_ and Irene is _lost-_

Nadiya turns over in her sleep and her hand brushes Irene’s shoulder. Right. She needs to be quiet. Nadiya needs her sleep. They both do, but Irene is too keyed up.

Irene reaches for her phone and turns down the brightness all the way. She plugs in headphones and moves so she’s laying on her stomach. Nadiya is a warm curled-up ball of solid warmth on her side.

She’s not sure what she wants to listen to until she opens up Youtube. Then she types in Remy’s name and looks up old Olympic and Championship videos. Watches a young cheerful Remy artfully flip and jump all over, doing crazy gymnastic things. The next video is an interview. Then it’s another performance video, then an interview, and on and on.

It’s not much, but it makes her feel less alone. Irene finally falls asleep a half an hour later with Remy’s voice in her ears and the ghost of a smile on her face.

* * *

One forty-seven on Saturday, Nadiya has an idea.

She’s been having this idea for the last three hours. Slowly, one fragment at a time. That’s how her ideas and hypotheses happen: plodding down the winding depths of her brain, gathering bits and pieces of evidence like a rolling snowball gathering mass.

It hits, though, when she’s staring at the list of victims, running through each name in her head.

The names.

“Carly. Cody. Carla. Connor.” She stops and frowns at the list.

“Hm?” Irene is making tea. She turns from the microwave (making tea the lazy way is a sign that Irene is truly upset). “Yeah, those are some of the victims.”

“A lot of names that start with C,” Nadiya muses, and her brain feels foggy and half-functioning. “Sergeant Blakemore. His name, let’s see…” She manages to pull up a more official record that has his first name. “Chase. Chase Blakemore.”

“But what about the one guy, Burnie,” Irene argues, ignoring the microwaves as it beeps. Her tea is done. “That guy’s name doesn’t start with a C. And maybe it’s just a coincidence.”

Nadiya laser-focuses and, as she searches, wishes she was a tech wiz like Remy. She’d have been able to find all this information much more quickly. She wonders if she would have time to go back to school and run through some IT classes…

“Cecil. That’s his first name. Burnie is just his nickname.” She swallows hard. Six people with this _one_ thing in common? No matter what Irene might think, it is not a coincidence.

“But Remy-” Irene cuts herself off. She puts a hand to her chest. “Christopher.”

“Christopher Rembrandt.” Nadiya slowly closes her laptop and stares at the cluttered table, feeling like reality just took a step to the left. She absent-mindedly picks at the duct tape on the corner. “We. We found.” She clears her throat and looks up at Irene. “We found out the why. Now we need to find the where.”

“What if – what if we did things the old-fashioned way?” Irene suggests, a spark of life returning to her eyes. “If we get in range of him, our powers will return. It won’t be a small radius, but it’ll be better than nothing.”

Nadiya is already standing and grabbing her keys. “Irene, that is the best idea that anyone on this useless team has ever come up with. But I have one suggestion: we should arm up. And I don’t mean weapons,” she holds up a hand at Irene’s half-formed protest, “I mean our Fellowship vests. Be prepared for a battle. Grab anything Kardala might need.”

“Got it.” Irene scurries to her room to get her protective vest. She emerges a few minutes later with the vest on, as well as a backpack. “Grabbed a first aid kit, a utility knife and scissors,” she explains. “Food and water too, since the other victims showed signs of malnutrition. Shock blanket. A change of clothing.” She gives a sheepish smile that squishes her cheeks. “And a set of lockpicks. Um, from Remy’s desk.”

There hasn’t been much to laugh at this week, but Nadiya gets a good chuckle out of the fact that Irene, PTA Mom, winner of Sweetest Person of the Year for her entire life, is bringing a set of lockpicks.

She straps on her own vest and twists her hair into a bun. “Let’s go get him back.”

* * *

It is not unlike operating a fickle metal detector. They head south first to scout out the area around Remy’s work. In Nadiya’s car taking circuitous paths through back streets, making sure to cover every square foot of the area. Nothing. Not even a flicker.

Next step is downtown. Circling around Nadiya’s lab, surrounded by the towering Philadelphia skyline. Claustrophobic, dark, despite the sun high in the sky. Still, the hole in Irene’s heart remains empty.

They try the north side next, over by Irene’s work. They turn onto a main road and Irene feels an electric jolt in her soul, a tug that grows in intensity. She gasps and grabs Nadiya’s arm, because that – that’s –

“Holy shit-” Nadiya pulls over. She looks over at Irene. “You feel that?”

Irene nods, because she _does._ Kardala is clamoring, excited and scared and ready to fight. And then there’s the energy, the rush of power. Her hair stands on end, forming a floating halo swirling around her head. Sparks skitter down her arms and light up her fingertips. Everything grows colder and brighter and more intense as Kardala makes it known that she is _ready,_ she is _here._

Remy is nearby. They are one step closer to finding him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, now to reveal my inspiration for this story: the french detective story "La Dame à la Hache" by Maurice LeBlanc. ("The woman with the axe" There's also a pun with the pronunciation of the word "hache" being the same as the pronunciation for the letter "H") The story deals with a serial kidnapper/killer who only targets young women whose first names start with the letter H. That story was a little...uh...ableist and shitty in the way that the whole genre is, but the original idea of the pattern was interesting enough for me to take. I would direct you to read it, but I couldn't find an English version of it. Don't worry, you're not missing too much, because that's really the most interesting part of the story...

**Author's Note:**

> AKA the classic post-canon moving in together fic, with maybe a few twists along the way... Is anyone still writing or reading fics about Commitment these days?
> 
> MOODBOARD by the lovely @drowninginstarlights [here](https://drowninginstarlights.tumblr.com/post/179690520208/its-not-the-start-of-a-joke-its-the-start-of). Thanks so much!
> 
> I made a Commitment playlist on Spotify. Find the link for it [here.](https://owlaholic68.tumblr.com/post/179603099294/taz-commitment-playlist-id-a-traditional)


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